


Consequences

by TeekiJane



Series: The Boys of Summer [17]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeekiJane/pseuds/TeekiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam learns there’s some truth to the phrase “You can never be too careful.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

_Not a day goes by_  
_That a man doesn’t have to choose_  
_Between what he wants_  
_What he’s afraid to lose_  
Robert Cray, Consequences

**Adam**

Being a counselor at a day camp was harder work than I had expected. I’d picked the gig because I expected it to be easy. I have four younger brothers and sisters; it was supposed to be like babysitting them when they were eight and nine. Actually, it was like babysitting…multiplied by five. Most days I came home and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed. I’d never really thought about having kids before, but breaking up ridiculous fights and tying shoes for kids who should know how to tie their own and a million other petty things had made up my mind. I never, ever wanted to be a dad. 

It was Friday—last day of the working week. Camp had ended at five and Mal had picked me up about five-twenty. I had her drop me off at Shane’s house; the guys were getting together there to plan this blow-out party Robby was going to have. We hadn’t invited Jordan to the planning because the party was going to be the weekend before he left for school. We’d decided to have it as a goodbye party. 

I was only at Shane’s for an hour because he had a date for the evening. After a block or two, Robby and I said goodbye and I walked home alone. Even though it’s never really quiet outside, it was like silence to me. Between the ruckus that was camp and the noise that was home, the sounds of cars and the wind and even the occasional child screaming was a sanctuary. 

When I got home, I found a surprise waiting for me. Tiff’s car was parked outside the house. She was leaning against it, chewing on one of her fingernails in a savage fashion. If she wasn’t careful, she was going rip open a hangnail and end up bleeding. I approached cautiously; she only bites her nails when she’s nervous about something. 

She saw me coming and jumped upright, removing her hand from her mouth. “Where have you been?” she asked, her voice strained, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “I wish you had a cell phone. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” 

I raised my eyebrows. “You knew I had to work today,” I began. 

“I know,” she acknowledged, not sounding any less crazed, “but this is an emergency.” 

I wondered briefly what counted as an emergency in her eyes. I knew it must actually be at least a little serious, because I’d _never_ seen her leave home without makeup on before. “An emergency, huh? Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter?” 

Tiff looked around. “I will, but not here. Let’s go somewhere private.” She dangled her keys from the hand she hadn’t been chewing on. I realized her hands were shaking and that’s when I actually started to get worried. 

“Okay,” I said, reaching out to grab her shaking hand, “but maybe you had better let me be the one doing the driving.” 

I expected her to fight with me, but she just handed me the keys. She got in the passenger’s side door and picked a paper bag off the floor, clutching it close to her chest.

I got behind the wheel and found that, much like after Byron or Jordan drives our shared car, I didn’t really have to adjust the seat or the rearview. I grimaced internally over that. I’ve heard that guys keep growing until they’re twenty one and I’m hoping to get another inch or two in that time, at least. 

I drove toward the heart of town but couldn’t think of any place to go that would be private. I ended up stopping at the park and we walked to the far end, away from the playground and the people, to an area where no one hangs out. It’s overgrown and not particularly pretty. There has been an ongoing debate across town as to what should be done with the land, but nothing had been decided. 

Tiff was still holding the paper bag tightly to her chest. We sat down on the rough grass, making an indentation in it. She crossed her legs and brought her spare hand to her mouth, getting ready to tear into a nail again. Three weeks of camp had made an instinct out of my next act: I reached out and pulled her hand away from her mouth. “Stop that,” I said gently. She pulled her hand back but didn’t start biting her nail again. I was getting slightly annoyed. “Are you going to tell me what’s the matter or not?” 

She didn’t say a word. Instead, she just pulled the bag away from her chest and held it out. I took it in one hand, but I was still watching her closely. I’d seen her be…well, crazy…before, but I’d never seen her look like this. It was almost as if she was struggling not to burst into hysterical tears. It was a look I’d seen on Byron’s face before…and on Jeff’s, for that matter. But never on Tiff’s face. 

“What’s this?” I asked, even though I didn’t think she’d answer me. Indeed, she just shook her head and pointed at the bag. As I gingerly opened the sack, not knowing what was inside, she pulled her arms around herself tightly, both literally and figuratively trying to hold herself together. 

I shook the single item out of the bag and still didn’t know what it was. It was a long plastic stick with a thin tip on one end, covered in a clear plastic cover. In the middle, not too far below the cover, was a small circle. Two blue lines ran through the circle, forming a cross. It looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “What is it?” I asked again. 

Tiff took a deep breath and tried to answer, but all the came out was a sob. I turned the plastic stick over and over again, trying to figure out what could possibly be making her this upset. I finally realized there was raised writing on the back side of the stick—white on white, so I hadn’t seen it. I turned it and held to the light at an angle so I could read the words. It said “Early Read Pregnancy Test” in clear letters. 

I dropped the test on the ground and scooted away from it. I took a deep breath and then, realizing I was acting like an idiot, sat down beside Tiff and looked at the stick again, still lying where I dropped it. “Does this mean what I think it means?” I asked in a low voice. 

Her breath was still ragged but she had control over it enough that she could speak, at least a little. “It’s positive,” she said quietly. 

I looked at the stick again and found that my heart was pounding. It was just one little piece of plastic—but I felt like that one piece of plastic had changed my whole life in a second. How was this even possible? We had been so careful. “Are you sure?” I asked, knowing the answer to the question. “I’ve heard sometimes these things are wrong.” 

She sniffled and, lacking a tissue—she didn’t even have her purse with her—she wiped her eyes and nose on her shirt sleeve near her shoulder. “It’s the third one I’ve taken,” she said, not meeting my eye, “and they’ve all said the same thing.” 

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. She had been avoiding my gaze ever since I’d pulled her finger away from her mouth, but now that I wasn’t looking at her, I could tell she was looking at me. I’d wanted to ask her how this had happened, but I didn’t see any point. First, she was just so upset and I didn’t want to make it worse. Second, did it really matter? What’s done is done. “What are we going to do?” I asked, almost rhetorically. 

“We?” she said, surprised. 

I looked up at her sharply. “Yes, we,” I repeated, reaching out for her. She scooted closer and leaned up against me and I wrapped my arms around her the way she had wrapped her own arms around herself a short time earlier. “It takes two to tango. It takes two to argue. It takes two to make a…” I faded out. 

“Baby,” she finished, and she started to sob fresh. I was just about to join her—her saying the word out loud had made a vague idea so much more real—but I managed to hold back. I’d agreed to see Tiff back in May because she sounded lost and alone. I’d thought, hey, maybe I can help her out. And her loneliness and neediness had been a factor in deciding to start dating her again. Every guy wants to be the hero to the damsel in distress, right? I see some of that in Jordan’s relationship with Haley, and I can even see it a little in why Jeff likes Byron—if you could call Byron a damsel. In any case, I didn’t think letting her see me fall to pieces was going to help anything. 

“I thought,” she said as she sobbed, making the words unclear and forcing me to pay close attention so I caught everything she said, “that you’d blame this all on me.” I understood her thought process—not because she was right, but because it’s the same way she always thinks. She blames herself for how things went with Haley. I know she blames all her past breakups on her own actions. I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought that her parents splitting up was all her fault. She had what Mallory and her one college psychology class would call a persecution complex. 

“Tiff, Babe…” I trailed off for a minute because I was starting to get choked up despite my promise to myself. I caught the tears and willed them not to fall. “I’m behind you, no matter what. Whatever you decide, I’ll stand by you.” 

“Whatever I decide?” She looked mystified, as if I’d just suggested she needed to make a highly powerful political decision. 

“Your body, your choice,” I spouted the cliché, sounding like a pamphlet they gave kids who made terrible mistakes. Kids like us. I ran one hand down her hair, which was loose, and then soothingly rubbed her back like you’d do with an upset eight year old. 

She turned to look at me. “Yeah, but we’re also talking about _your_ kid. And your future. What would you do if I said I wanted to keep the baby? Would you drop out of school? Would we move in together? Would we get married?” Tiff was off and running, looking out toward the tree line again. “And what if I said I wanted to get an abortion or give the kid up for adoption? Would you hate me? I need to know how you feel.” 

I could see she meant that. But I also had the feeling that, if I were honest with her, she’d just take what I said and run with _that_ , just so she wouldn’t have to think for herself. “I don’t have any answers for you, Babe,” I said. “I wish I did. I’ll tell you what I do know and that is this: I won’t hate you no matter what you decide. But I can’t make this decision for you. Tell me which way you think you’re leaning, and we’ll make plans together.” 

She looked up at me, more hurt and confused than I’d ever seen her look before. So much for being her white knight, huh? I’d really fucked things up big time. We both took a deep breath, almost at the same time. “I don’t know either. I guess we both just need some time to think,” she said. 

“Good idea,” I replied, “Maybe we should take the weekend to think and talk about this again on Monday? I don’t think we had any plans yet for tomorrow or Sunday.” 

Tiffany had stopped crying, but she was still sniffling. “I was meaning to tell you,” she said, “that we actually _do_ have plans one night. Haley called me.” I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “She invited us to her house Sunday to watch a movie with her, Byron and Jeff. She said it was a ‘peace offering.’ I was so surprised that I said yes without stopping to consult with you.” 

“I told you that would work itself out. And, believe it or not, so will this.” 

I didn’t have to explain what I meant by _this_. “Yeah, but this is so much bigger than feuding with your brother’s girlfriend,” she observed. 

She wasn’t going to get an argument from me on that point.


End file.
